their hooks and brought to me, showing ancient ketches, which have two square rigged masts, schooners with as many as six fore and aft rigged masts-sailing ships very old some beautiful Spanish shawls were shown me, and Japanese china and papier mâché trays, all the collections and curios of a sea-sailing family. "I could not appreciate the rich, creamy milk, or the rich, creamy butter, so Captain Davies produced a bottle of olive oil and of cognac. But oh the ham, the mutton, the beef, the veget- ables This year, the first time in the history of Brynmawr, snowdrops bloomed in a public garden-the South Garden, originally a waste space, dug, railed in and planted by the volun- tary unemployed workers. UNDERNEATH the old, the rotting carcase, ceaselessly yet effortlessly growing, growing from the dream seed of the withered fallen blossoms of life's long decayed summer is the new and splendid city dreamlike, yet alive in more than dreams.; Not builded by the hands of men but growing in the hearts of men it rears itself steadily if slowly, surely and in certain truth. Founded not in earth that is deeply dug but in faith that is deeper than earth's deeps. And the crumbling walls, and the shuttered shops, of the old, the rotting carcase, do not matter. They are not the real things, the true, significant things, that matter. POEMS OF BRYNMAWR by Walter Dowding IV.SNOWDROPS. Strong are the snowdrops Strong are the daffodils, pushing from night of earth, tipping iike green flames, out of its heaviness, to life-giving sun, Suddenly Jose turned to enter the chart room, to take the bearings, to write up the log book, to sound the bells for the next watch already the next man was coming up to take his turn at the wheel, and the dogs, too, coming up the lad- der one after the other, Muro and Chicita I strained my eyes towards Spain, the soil which is part of my bones, of my flesh and my blood, expecting to see the red, yellow and purple tricolour, to hear the cry "Long live the Repub- lic!" Sweet, in the little Southern Garden, are the snowdrops And the daffodils, just pushing through, Sweet with the strength of Life, and strong with its sweetness, They matter most and signify the real. Signify the real life of Life, pushing upwards, pushing without effort through the death of all our dead lives, pushing through our dead life and tipping to the sun. Signify the real life, Life that is new and sweet, Vigorous, radiant, pulsing with vigour new anciently planted, planted in secret, in hearts of our fathers. Who dreamed as we dream to-day, of walls finely builded, builded in secret, in strength of the spirit.